


aiming toward the sky

by spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: see your world in traces [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Biting, Canon-Typical Ableism, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an outtake from see your world in traces.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Pay attention to me!” Ambrose shouts at him, like a child throwing a tantrum. “Why won’t you just pay attention to me and none of this would have to happen!”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	aiming toward the sky

_001.  
“Pay attention to me!” Ambrose shouts at him, like a child throwing a tantrum. “Why won’t you just pay attention to me and none of this would have to happen!”_

\--

If anybody other than Seth asked why Dean did what he did, he’d have lied right to their face. He considers lying to Seth, too, but he’s quickly learning that he can’t, or at least it’s really hard to even try. How he feels about that is another issue entirely, but he’s accepting it, at least. 

He knew Seth was too good for the title he was holding. It’d be like if Undertaker suddenly decided he wanted the IC title – didn’t make sense. He’s above that, and Seth’s above the FCW 15 championship. He should be going for the heavyweight. Hell, Dean and him should be feuding over that title until they get to the main roster, because nobody else here is good enough to hold it. Bo isn’t bad, but in a direct comparison? It’s a joke that Seth’s not holding his title.

Nobody’d believe that’s why he did it, but that’s fine with Dean. He doesn’t need anyone to understand his motivation. Well, almost anyone. There’s maybe one person he wants to think _would_ understand it, at least.

When he spots Seth after he’s spent some of his adrenaline on William Regal (another problem he made, another problem he’d decided he wanted to cause), he’s walking with his head down, but not down far enough to hide that he’s got an expression like thunder on his face and his gait is jerky. He’s pissed. It makes Dean shiver with a sort of excitement.

He lets Seth get all the way to his car, a hand on the handle of it, before he says anything.

“Did you like that?” Seth’s back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn around. “I told you it wasn’t over, didn’t I?”

“Walk away,” is what Seth says to that. He sounds angry. Good. Dean likes him angry. He likes Seth when he’s emotional, when Dean can see how genuine that feeling is, the anger. The Seth Rollins he pushes on everybody, golden boy extraordinaire, righteous and good, that’s not Seth. Seth is so much more. Seth could be so much more if he would just let go. Let himself _breathe_. “Fucking walk away from me right now or I will knock your teeth down your throat.”

“Kinky,” says Dean, stepping a little closer. God, it’s intoxicating, the vitriol on Seth’s tongue. Dean wonders if maybe he could taste it, if that bitterness would linger on Seth’s lips. He wants more of it. Wants to goad Seth into… something. He just knows he wants more of that anger, more of that fire. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like me anymore? You liked me a whole lot when your dick was in my mouth.”

He’s pretty sure he can hear Seth’s teeth grinding now, and he’s close enough that he could reach out and touch Seth, if he wanted. If he’d known it would feel this good to do, he would’ve _started_ his time here by getting that title off Seth. Maybe Seth’ll believe it’s not the title Dean wants now that he’s deliberately put it on Damien Sandow. 

“Turn around. Walk away,” says Seth.

“Or what?” Dean asks. He can feel laughter bubbling up in his stomach, ridiculous and tickling his insides. Seth has no idea. Seth has no idea why he just cost him the title – or maybe he thinks it’s because Dean just doesn’t like him. He’s so far from the truth that it’s laughable. “Are you gonna spank me?” 

Dean does laugh then, and he can’t not be touching Seth anymore, so he slips his arm around Seth’s neck from behind in something like a hug. He’s expecting it when Seth rolls with that, using Dean’s own momentum to twist and then shove Dean against the door of his car. The forearm against his throat is a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one, like the growl on Seth’s face, the thigh between Dean’s. Dean couldn’t move even if he wanted to (and he doesn’t) but the way Seth’s not letting him is making him feel warm all over.

“I am not in the mood.” Oh, the hint of a snarl in Seth’s voice is amazing. Dean’s a little hard. Honestly, he’s been a little hard since he shoved himself into the ring and bowled over Sandow, just because he’d known what the look on Seth’s face would be when he turned around. “I’m not in the fucking mood to play your fucking games.” 

They’re sharp-edged, those curses out of Seth’s mouth. Dean’s getting to him. Whether or not that’s his goal – and Dean’s not sure anymore what percent of his screwing with Seth is mind games and what percent is just enjoying it, just liking the way Seth knows things he shouldn’t about what Dean likes. Seth’s intriguing. There’s still a part of Dean that likes keeping Seth wondering, keeping him on his toes, but. But. He can’t say there’s not a part of him that just likes _Seth_. And that’s scary if he lets himself think about it too hard.

So it’s mind games. That’s what Dean’s telling himself. It’s just getting inside Seth’s head. Does Seth know he’s the reason Dean’s here? Has somebody told him, ever mentioned that Dean only signed his contract when he had confirmation that Seth was in the company? It wasn’t a hard decision – Dean had figured he was going to sign the second he got the contract in front of him – but Seth Rollins was a bonus he hadn’t been positive he’d be getting.

Seth’s thigh is still between his. Dean’s still kind of hard. He wonders if Seth is, too.

“Sure you don’t wanna play any fucking games?” he asks, deliberately shifting his hips to press against Seth’s. He totally is, and Dean tilts his head toward Seth even though he thinks Seth would just as soon punch him as kiss him right now.

Seth’s gaze flicks from Dean’s eyes to his mouth and then back. He doesn’t even seem aware of it. Interesting. _Interesting_.

“Why are you doing this?” Seth asks him. He shoves Dean harder against the car, and it makes Dean choke a little, a cut off noise in his throat where Seth’s arm is still jammed. “What’s the point? What’s the fucking point?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions.” Dean licks his lips, and smiles when Seth’s eyes are drawn there again. That makes him feel powerful. More powerful than it should, considering he’s still pinned against a car. “Why not? Why not do this?”

He’s not even sure exactly what he wants from Seth. He wants Seth to understand why he did it, but he doesn’t want to – he doesn’t want to come out and say why because, well, it’s a little bit pathetic. Seth had seemed to think that getting a pinfall over Dean meant that they were done with each other. Is it that easy for him? Can he really get over it that easily?

Did Dean really not affect him at all? Can he really get over _Dean_ that easily while Dean’s sitting in the back furious, because Seth Rollins is fighting someone who’s not him?

Probably. Probably, that’s what happened, because Seth, maybe Seth doesn’t feel this, whatever Dean’s feeling. He doesn’t even understand it himself. All he knows is that he’s not done with Seth Rollins. And he’ll be damned if Seth gets to decide he’s done with him.

“You got what you wanted,” Seth says. “I lost. I lost my title. You win or whatever, okay? I lose and you win.” Seth steps away from him, shaking his head, and he’s still not getting it, he still hasn’t gotten it – still thinks this is about _titles_ and yeah, maybe it is a little, but he just knows Seth’s better than that useless little medal, and anyway it’s not. It’s not. It’s not about titles. It’s about Dean wanting to dig this feeling out of his chest, this warmth stretching over his bones. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

Dean feels a surge of anger. How can Seth think that’s what Dean wants? He wants anything but that. He wants to wrestle Seth until he’s dead, probably. In the ring and out of it, he wants to learn all of the things about Seth that he’s hiding when he puts on that face for the crowd. It’s got to be a mask he’s putting on – this is the most honest Dean’s ever seen Seth, all fury and rich, vibrant color. He’s fucking beautiful when he’s honest.

“And you’re still so wrong!” Dean says, that anger twisting in his stomach, forcing sparks in his words. How can Seth not understand? How can he not feel this? There’s no way it’s just Dean, not with the way Seth wrestles him. “How are you still so wrong? What’s it like, being so wrong all the time?”

“Fuck off.” There’s heat in Seth’s voice, too, and Dean relishes it, imagines he can breathe it in, lives off it just the same. 

Seth’s jerking open the back door of his car, practically ignoring Dean to stuff his bag into the car, and Dean can’t take that. He can’t take Seth ignoring him. That’s what got him in this mess in the first place. He can feel anger burning in his chest, the petulant, childish anger that makes him feel very small.

“Pay attention to me!” he says, loud enough that it might qualify as a shout, and the parking lot is empty but the two of them, and it seems to echo because of it. It’s exactly what he was hoping he could keep himself from saying. “Why won’t you just pay attention to me and none of this would have to happen!”

“What are you, eight?” When Seth turns back to Dean, he does it in this fluid motion that’s kind of breathtaking in the way he pushes his hair back with one hand. The expression on his face is fading from anger into confusion tinted with exasperation, like Dean’s just a child, a child that Seth has to deal with even though he doesn’t want to. Dean feels a pang of familiar cold, prickly discomfort that he impatiently shoves away. “What are you even talking about?”

Dean doesn’t remember moving forward again into Seth’s space, doesn’t recall making that decision, but his legs did it for him. Seth tenses when Dean’s hands touch his neck, and Dean doesn’t blame him, really.

He kisses him, right on the mouth, a quick thing, a nothing kiss, and even that makes his stomach flutter pleasantly. Seth doesn’t push him away. Dean doesn’t give him the chance to, in and out maybe even before Seth’s realized he’s being kissed.

“I just wanted to get your attention,” he says, already feeling the urge to do it again, because Seth’s looking at him like maybe he wouldn’t even mind. Also a little like he thinks Dean’s on something, but you win some and you lose some. “To make sure you don’t forget about me,” Dean adds, because if he’s going for ‘pathetic unrequited obsession’ he might as well go all in.

“You’re crazy,” is what Seth says in response. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“You’re not allowed to forget about me, Seth,” says Dean, his voice getting louder again, and he feels Seth set a hand on his waist. He might not even do it on purpose, but Dean’s whole mind kind of relocates its focus onto that hand. His voice is quieter when he keeps talking. “Everyone forgets about me, but you’re different. You’re special. You beat me.”

“That’s not the first time someone’s beat you,” Seth says. He sounds suspicious. He also sounds like he’s still somehow not understanding what this whole thing is about. Dean doesn’t know how he couldn’t get it by now, not with Dean shouting his feelings all over this parking lot.

“It’s the first time it mattered,” he decides on, which is close enough to what he means.

What he’d say if he wanted to completely freak Seth out would be, ‘ _I can’t stop thinking about you because you pinned me and I wasn’t even that mad about it and I think you’re the only person in the whole world who could do that, you’re the only person in the whole entire world who could do this to me, and you don’t even know you’re doing it and that makes me so angry because you’re not even fucking me up on purpose. You’re fucking me up by accident._ ’

Seth clearly doesn’t hear that part, because he shakes his head – tries to shake his head, but Dean’s still got his hands on either side of Seth’s face, so he can’t quite manage it and he looks a little put out about it – and then he says, “Wow, being full of shit just comes naturally to you, doesn’t it? Have you ever been honest a day in your life?”

Dean can feel something in his face shut down, close off. Seth can tell, too, if the sudden confusion on his face is any indication. Dean’s a liar by trade, almost, lies to everyone just about, if it’ll get him ahead or get into someone’s head, but he’s never lied to Seth. If Seth knew just how much he’s screwing up Dean’s whole system of existing, he’d probably rejoice.

“If you can name one fucking lie that’s ever come out of my mouth when I’ve been talking to you, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll walk away.” He keeps his eyes on Seth’s, and hopes Seth actually thinks, realizes that there’s not one. Not one single lie Dean’s ever told him. “Name one lie and I’ll go. I’ll start bothering someone else.”

He watches Seth try, watches the wheels turn in his head. It’s visible in his eyes that he’s trying to remember lies Dean’s told him, anything he can pop out with, victorious and righteous and whatever else he thinks he is, and Dean can see the frustration when there isn’t anything. There’s nothing Seth can prove he’s lied about.

He loves it, that glimpse of true frustration and the way Seth’s eyebrows draw together, and he can’t help but kiss him again. If the first one was a nothing kiss, this is a something kiss, the way you kiss someone when you wanna bring them home with you, the way you kiss someone when it’s just the two of you only Dean doesn’t actually know that there’s nobody else here, and that just makes it better. Seth kind of sinks into it, and his hair’s between Dean’s fingers, and Dean can’t breathe even though he can breathe.

Seth tells him to get in the car, and Dean has to stop himself from grinning, on thin ice and he knows it. Apparently, though, he doesn’t move quickly enough, because while he’s turning to get into the car, Seth curls a hand in his collar and shoves him into the backseat. It’s not gentle, and Dean doesn’t stop that grin this time.

“Pushy,” he says. He lies back against the seat, resting his head on his arms, feet still outside the door of the car. An old friend of his used to say Dean had legs like a box of hammers and he still isn’t sure what that means. He wiggles his toes. “You’re still angry about me interrupting your match,” he notes. It’s stating the obvious, with the way irritation is still clear on Seth’s face.

“Yeah, I’m a little pissed off about that, still,” is what Seth says back, delightfully sarcastic, fuck, Dean loves when he bites, when he snaps a little. He wonders what it’d take to get the worst out of him, and whether Seth at his worst is something he’ll ever get to see. He hopes so.

Dean gets his legs around Seth’s waist the first second he can, and it presses them together, Seth’s hips a firm pressure against his. Seth barely catches himself before he’d have clocked Dean in the jaw with his forehead, and throws Dean a dirty look while he drops a leg down onto the floor of the car, his other one bending at the knee to fit into the backseat. A little cramped, but he’ll deal with it for the way Seth’s kind of subtly pressing against him. Dean doesn’t even know if he’s realized.

“You might wanna close the door, unless you wanna give ol’ Husky a show,” he says, just to see how Seth’s going to react. Seth’s head jerks around to look so fast it looks like he’ll give himself whiplash, and it makes Dean laugh. He’s going to enjoy being Seth’s dirty little secret. It’s an interesting feeling, being something someone’s ashamed of. Not familiar, exactly, but a little exhilarating. Maybe he’ll give Seth a heart attack before this is all over.

Oh, Dean has no doubt this’ll end. It’s just the nature of things. Dean never has good things, good people – he never has them for long. And he doubts Seth’ll let himself have a bad thing like Dean for long. But it’s going to be so, so fun while it lasts. 

“I just wanna keep you on your toes,” he says, and the look on Seth’s face is like he really wants to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t. He just reaches behind him and yanks the door shut, both of them tucked back here all snug and warm, hips shoved together so close that Dean can tell Seth’s as happy to be here as he is.

Seth’s hands slide up underneath his shirt, and they’re warm, just like everything else, hot with patches of flat roughness from callouses on his palms. Dean watches Seth’s hands as they push his shirt up, and Seth’s saying something but it’s so hard for Dean to care when his hands are so warm. 

Dean jolts when Seth pinches one of his nipples fucking _hard_ , hard enough that it makes it much more difficult for Dean to pay attention to the hands on him. He frowns, his head dropping back against the seat when Seth repeats what he’d said: “Why’d you cost me my match?” apparently, which Dean had thought they already discussed.

Dean puts his hands on Seth’s, but he doesn’t move them even though he’d like to encourage them to touch him some more. “You’re too good for it,” he says, because it’s true. He thinks about telling Seth his analogy about the Undertaker and the Intercontinental title, but doesn’t think it’d go over well. “That title. You should be going for the big one.”

“Didn’t you want the FCW 15 title, like, last month?” Seth asks. He doesn’t look like he believes Dean, which is frankly offensive, considering they just talked about how Dean doesn’t lie to him. He hasn’t decided to start in the past ten minutes.

Dean smiles, regardless, and squeezes Seth’s wrists. “I wanted to wrestle you,” he says, since it seems like Seth’s confused, maybe, about why exactly Dean came to this company. “And you were the FCW 15 champion.”

“Bullshit,” is Seth’s reply. Golly, he doesn’t seem to trust Dean at all. Okay, maybe the way Dean went about it was unconventional, but now Seth’s free to go after the big title and Dean won’t have to watch Bo Rotundo parade around with it when one of the best wrestlers Dean’s ever faced is walking around with a dime store medal around his neck.

That’s harsh, maybe. The 15 title is fine, it’s a nice little title, but it’s not good enough for Seth. Hell, if Seth wanted to jump to the main roster and challenge for the WWE title, he could get that one, too. He’s just good. He has to know that – there’s no way Seth’s gotten this far into it without knowing he’s good. Dean just wonders if years of having to fake modesty about it have made it so he doesn’t know it’s unnecessary to do that.

He slides his hands up Seth’s arms, hooking thumbs in the sides of his jacket. Thankfully, Seth seems to take that as an invitation to take the jacket off, slipping it off his shoulders and dropping it somewhere. Dean’s not paying attention to the jacket with Seth hovering over him all disheveled and vaguely pissy. 

Dean leans up, which is hard with his legs draped across Seth’s thighs, but he manages. He braces himself with a hand on the back of the seat and a hand on the driver’s side head rest, and searches out Seth’s mouth to kiss him. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get tired of the way Seth kisses back, automatically, even when he’s all angry at Dean. It’s like he doesn’t even realize it, too. 

“I don’t lie to you,” Dean says. He doesn’t stop kissing Seth while he says it, hoping that saying the words into Seth’s mouth, breathing them into him might make him finally believe it. “You bring out the best in me.”

“If this is your best, I’d hate to see your worst,” Seth responds, and that’s fair. Dean doesn’t want Seth to see his worst, either, because his worst is ugly and mean and cruel, something black curling up from his insides, and if Seth thinks he’s bad now, he has no idea the kinds of things Dean’s capable of. Seth makes him feel like he could be more than the person he’s been. Like he’s not worthless.

That’s important. Dean doesn’t know quite why yet, but it’s important.

He tucks his fingers into Seth’s collar and leans back, his spine lengthening along the seat of the car, until Seth’s chest is pressed against his, and Dean can’t stop the way his hips are moving up against Seth’s – they’re so close together like this, and Dean wants Seth to take everything from him.

There’s a moment, almost quiet, where they’re just breathing against each other, and Dean can see Seth thinking, practically. He’s sure there’s part of Seth that hates him, actually, a part of Seth that loathes Dean for, for lowering him, or something, for being a person while Seth is also a person. He’s sure Seth thinks too much and too deep about this.

Dean does, too, but for different reasons. Dean thinks too much about Seth in general. He thinks too hard about what it means that Seth pinned him and it mattered, that he heard Seth Rollins was in this company and it made it so much easier to sign on that dotted line. He thinks too much about how he cares too much. 

But he wouldn’t let it get in the way of getting laid.

“You’re thinking about it too hard,” he tells Seth, his knuckles skimming over Seth’s ribs. He’s always been kind of fascinated by ribs, and he can feel the little valleys and hills of Seth underneath his t-shirt – but he’s getting distracted again. “It’s not complicated. You’re overthinking it.”

“I’m not thinking at all, obviously,” Seth laughs, and Dean rolls his eyes, because this is beyond Seth dancing around what he wants and it’s venturing into Seth _denying_ himself what he wants. If Seth didn’t want to do this, that’s something else, and Dean would be able to be a decent person about it. If Seth wasn’t into him, hell, lots of people aren’t into him, Dean’s managed to accept that in his years on this trash heap of a planet.

But it’s not that. It’s not that Seth doesn’t want him, because he does, he’s drawn to Dean as much as Dean’s drawn to him, or nearly, anyway. It’s that Seth thinks he shouldn’t be, doesn’t want to want to be, because that means something. Dean knows it, too, it means something. But if Seth doesn’t want it to mean anything, if Seth needs to pretend it’s just, whatever, getting off, expelling the anger, whatever he needs to think; if he needs that, well, Dean’s always been pretty good at pretending.

“I know you’re not this fucking uptight all the time,” he says, rolling his shoulders, getting rid of the tension in them. “Look, you can think you hate me, or whatever, if that’s what helps you sleep at night? But we’re adults, we both clearly want to do this, it’d be fucking stupid not to do it because you’re caught up in the bullshit.” He punctuates what he’s saying by slipping his hand under Seth’s shirt, pressing against his ribs without it in the way.

It takes some effort not to get distracted by Seth’s ribs, and Dean tries very hard not to think about how fucked up it is that Seth’s got Dean dizzy over his goddamn ribcage. They’re ribs. Everyone’s got them. But Seth’s are Seth’s.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to,” Dean says. That’s the kicker, that’s what’ll get him, because Seth really wants to believe this doesn’t mean anything. Dean can see that indecision on his face, that look like he knows what he wants but he knows he shouldn’t want it. Dean shifts his hips up against Seth’s, a drag of denim, and he swallows the noise he almost makes.

Dean only has to crane a little to kiss Seth’s neck, smooth right where it curves into his shoulder. It’s just above his t-shirt collar and Dean bites hard enough that it makes Seth hiss, hard enough that there’ll probably be the faint impression of Dean’s teeth in his skin for a little while.

“It doesn’t mean anything?” It sounds like a question, but it might not be, and Dean doesn’t get to answer before Seth’s twisting to find Dean’s mouth, kissing him hard enough it hurts and then biting his bottom lip. The feeling of it shoots though Dean’s veins, a crackle like you get when you stand outside in a thunderstorm. Dean wonders if Seth can feel his heart beating faster.

“Not a damn thing,” he agrees, even though he knows – he knows, _Seth_ knows, it means so many things, it means so much more than nothing. Seth’s not ready for that, though, so Dean’ll let him think it means nothing. He can do that as long as it means he still gets Seth somehow.

Dean brings his foot up from where it was braced on the floor of the car, tucking it back behind Seth’s leg, and Seth does something, moves to accommodate him, something, but whatever he does, it means he’s leaning forward with his hips, all shoved up against Dean’s ass, and Dean can’t hold back the moan at that, at that feeling like if they weren’t wearing clothes Seth could just push inside him – it’s been a while since Dean got well and truly fucked, and now Seth’s got him scrambling for words, desperate for it. 

“Just – just—“ Dean doesn’t know what he’s saying. All he knows is what he wants, what’s driving heat hard in the pit of his stomach. “Just—“ he tries, but he doesn’t know how to voice what he wants from Seth, and the hint of satisfaction he can see in Seth’s face, that he’s reduced Dean to this, fuck, the lick of arousal that flits in Dean’s chest makes it hard to breathe. 

Seth slips his hand underneath Dean’s knee where his leg’s still bent behind Seth’s, and he fucking _shoves_ , pushing it back and up, and Dean’s boot is nearly touching the ceiling of the car, and he swears he can fucking feel Seth’s dick through both of their clothes.

“Please,” he says, bare bones, the very least of what he’s feeling, a word that curls out of his mouth like smoke, hazy and desperate. 

Seth says, “yeah?” like that’s a real fucking question, like Dean’s cock hasn’t been shouting “yes” at the man this whole time, like Dean isn’t one big neon “yes” sign when it comes to Seth Rollins.

Dean doesn’t know when his head dropped back, or when his eyes closed, but he likes that, because it means he can think about what it’d be like if they did this for real. Dean doesn’t care where – locker room, hotel, on the floor of the parking lot, it’d be amazing because they’re amazing. He wonders if Seth can feel that. He wonders if Seth can feel that they’d be _fucking amazing_.

It’s a shock when he feels Seth bite him, and he doesn’t halfass it, either, biting hard enough that Dean’s eyes shoot open, hard enough Dean thinks he might’ve taken some of Seth’s skin off with the blunt nubs of his fingernails, locking into a scratch down the man’s side that Seth doesn’t even react to except to growl a little and bite down that much more.

It’s hard and rough and it hurts, it hurts in the way that lights up all of Dean’s nerve endings, and he has to kiss Seth – mutters something about it, something quick and probably barely incoherent, but whatever he says, Seth tilts his head, tucks it down and lets Dean kiss him. It’s messy and desperate, not his best work, but it’s something to focus on while he tries not to come in his jeans like a sixteen year old.

It doesn’t work. Dean doesn’t care that much.

Fuck, Seth getting him off somehow feels better than it has with anyone else, even a backseat dryhump is like the finest caviar, like fucking manna from heaven.

He’s still kind of twitching from his own orgasm when he dips his hand into Seth’s pants, finding him just as hard as Dean had thought he was, and it’s so hard to _think_ but he watches Seth’s face, can’t take his eyes off it while Seth grinds into the palm of his hand. That feels almost as good as coming had. Almost.

Dean’s still got spunk all over his hand when out of nowhere, Seth hits him with: “When’s your birthday?”

Seth’s still a little winded, and Dean’s focusing smugly on that for a second until he realizes what Seth said, and he frowns, trying to catch his own breath as subtly as he can.

“December,” he says after a moment of trying to figure out what kind of havoc Seth could wreak with that information, because why does he need to know Dean’s birthday? It’s not like he was gonna get him a card.

Dean might get Seth one for his, though. Just to keep him guessing.

“Why?” he asks when Seth doesn’t say anything else.

“What year?” Seth asks instead of elaborating. Fucking asshole. Dean can’t believe he goes all googoo eyes over such an asshole.

“Why?” he asks again, but Seth’s not going to answer that yet, Dean can tell from the stubborn set of his mouth. “December of ’85.” Christ, he’s getting old. He’s not, but shit was a lot easier when he was twenty. It seems the older he gets, the harder it gets to not give a shit about anything.

Seth looks disappointed for some reason. “No reason,” he says in an undertone. “You’re older than me.”

Dean snorts. Really? “By like six months, or something,” he says, doing the quick math in his head.

Seth sits up, fast enough that Dean belatedly realizes maybe that was a weird thing to know offhand, and he frowns at Dean, except it looks more like a sulk than a frown and Dean has to stop his mouth from smiling. That had felt nice, Seth just kind of lying on him. Dean wants to go back to that, please.

“How did you know that?” Seth asks, that suspicious pouty look still on his face. Like Dean hacked into his computer or something.

“Public record,” he says, shrugging as well as he can while he’s lying down. “Asked the office for your tapes and stuff to do some scouting. Never know what information might come in handy.”

Okay, that probably did sound more suspicious than he meant it to. Really, he was just thinking about sending Seth something nice on his birthday to throw him off a little. He still might. He likes when Seth gets that half-confused, half-wary look on his face. Kind of like the one he’s got on now, actually.

“You’re a freak,” says Seth. Fair, that’s fair. Dean’s been called worse.

“Professionally,” Dean jokes, but Seth doesn’t laugh. Oh, well. Dean reaches down and adjusts himself with the hand that doesn’t still have come on it, making a face at the mess he can feel in his jeans. “Don’t suppose you have, like, a towel or something?”

Seth hesitates, then says, “maybe,” twisting to reach the gym bag he’d shoved down on the floor behind the front seat. He isn’t tentative about dropping the entirety of the thing onto Dean’s chest, and it knocks the air out of him as much from trying not to laugh as anything else. He kind of likes these petty little shows Seth has, ways to prove to himself that it’s fine, he still hates Dean, everything’s okay.

Dean entertains himself by licking his thumb while Seth’s digging through the bag. It’s as good a way as any to clean it off, and the salt-bitter taste of it isn’t the worst thing in the world. When Seth offers a wrinkled towel to him, he looks a little like someone’s hit him over the head with something, which is a nice bonus. 

“Thanks,” Dean says absently. He doesn’t bother with propriety as he undoes his jeans. Seth’s seen it all before, anyway. Still, it’s kind of cute how Seth obviously turns away, whether he wants to give Dean privacy to fix his junk or whatever, he leans over to drop his bag into the passenger seat.

It doesn’t take Dean long to fix himself up, but even in just the minute that passes, Seth’s getting that look on his face again. The ‘I know I want to do this but I don’t want to want to do this so what the fuck’ look that he’s so great at.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Dean tells him. “Don’t make it a thing. It’s not a thing.” It’s absolutely a thing, but Dean’ll play along.

“I know it’s not a thing,” Seth says, snappish and aggressive, picking his jacket up from the floor and throwing it on the front seat with his bag. “I’m not thinking anything. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Well that’s just fuckin’ laughable, honestly. Dean doesn’t think he can be blamed for smiling a little, even though it just makes Seth look more annoyed.

“I think I know you better than you think I do,” Dean says. That’s just obvious to him, but maybe Seth hasn’t caught on yet. Or maybe it’s one of those things where he doesn’t _want_ to catch on. Whatever it is, for Seth to say Dean doesn’t know him, that’s just ludicrous. Dean doesn’t know if he’s ever known anyone better.

“Oh, really?” It doesn’t really sound like a question. More like a challenge. “What am I thinking right now, then?”

Dean hums while he deliberately drops the towel onto the floor so Seth’ll have to pick it up later. “You’re about to kick me out of your car,” he says decisively. That one was easy. He zips his pants up carefully. “Because you’re worried I do actually know you that well and it scares you.” He pauses, then adds, “and it should,” because it should, it should scare Seth, not because Dean’s planning on doing anything awful with how well he knows Seth, but because Dean’s worried he doesn’t know how to be anything other than terrible. Even now.

Seth says, “Get out of my car,” as he rolls his eyes, and Dean laughs to himself. “And not because that’s what I was thinking; because you’re annoying and you cost me my title and I don’t like you.”

“How will I ever go on?” Dean says, dry sarcasm, which is kind of laughable considering he’s been flinging how he feels about Seth in the man’s face all night. It’s a little more honest than it probably sounds.

“Out,” says Seth, reaching behind himself to push the door open. He backs out of the car, and Dean rolls to his feet once he’s clear to, rolling his shoulders, belatedly noticing his shirt’s still all twisted up under his armpits and pulling it down.

Dean checks himself over: zipped up, shirt in the right place, hair probably terrible but that’s fine. He bows, retrieving his gum from where he’d tucked it back between his cheek and his teeth, and giving his jaw a flex. “Always a pleasure,” he says. It’s true, but he knows Seth’ll think he’s mocking him. He’ll learn in time. At least, Dean hopes he will.

“I’m sure I’ll see you next week,” Seth says. He sounds resigned to it.

“You’re gonna have to wait your turn if you want a revenge match,” Dean says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A smile plays at his lips as he remembers. Seth won’t know, probably, was gone before he would’ve seen, or wasn’t paying attention, but Dean’s fist clenches a little in his pocket while he remembers bowling over William Regal.

“Why’s that? Did you piss somebody else off?” Seth asks. Feisty. Dean likes the exasperation in his voice.

“I’m hurt by your lack of faith in me,” Dean replies, half a cackle in the back of his throat. Sometimes they just bubble up, and he’s learning to swallow them down if he wants his head to work right. “It just so happens that William Regal might want a match against me.”

Seth looks suspicious again. Amazing. Dean wants to dedicate his whole life to making Seth look suspicious. “Why might he want that?”

Dean shrugs, an easy roll of his shoulders. “Mighta jumped him earlier. Mighta punched him in the head a couple times.”

Seth almost looks amused at that. “I thought what we had was special,” he says, and parts of Dean sing even though he knows it’s just a joke. He hopes Seth’s jealous. He hopes Seth’s so fucking jealous. “You’re flirting with Regal now?”

Dean laughs again, for real, not something meant to intimidate or play head games or anything, just a laugh because Seth said something funny. God, it’s been a while since someone said something genuinely funny to him. “Oh, darling,” he says, remnants of the laugh in his throat. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

It’s a little terrifying how true that feels. Dean feels, suddenly, very afraid of Seth Rollins. It’s ridiculous, because Seth’s ridiculous, all big bambi eyes and a heart of fucking gold, but Seth – Seth makes him feel things. That shouldn’t be scary but it is.

He gives Seth a salute, then, a tossed off little nothing salute, and puts his hands back in his pockets. He doesn’t say goodbye before he walks away. They’re not there, yet. They’re not goodbye people yet. Yet. He still thinks they might get there someday.

Dean’s just got to be patient.


End file.
